


A Candy Crush

by bringmayflowers



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 09:58:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14399715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bringmayflowers/pseuds/bringmayflowers
Summary: A train ride turns into a babysitting job.In other words, Stormy likes his new babysitters; he thinks they make a cute couple.





	A Candy Crush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zigostia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zigostia/gifts).



John walks onto the train at the Oxford stop, carrying his little suitcase in his hand and messenger bag slung across his shoulder. He crowds his way through the masses of people, and makes his way to his seat. He slides down into the maroon cushioned booth, a grateful gasp spilling through his lips. 

He never has been good with crowds, and the although small, but heavy, suitcase did not help. He scooches further in, taking his place beside the window. He places his bag on the table in front of him and stows the suitcase underneath the table, right up against the wall with the window, and glances quickly up at the person sitting opposite him. 

Black, curly hair. Still sleeping soundly, even with the murmur of the new passengers getting on and settling in and the old passengers leaving the train. 

John pulls out the tests he has yet to mark for his undergrad class from his messenger bag, and produces an array of red pens as well.

As the train starts to whistle and whiz away from the station, John loses his focus. After a couple questions, John stares wistfully outside as the greenery of the English countryside begins to whiz by. The man across him wakes with a sudden start, his eyes flashing open and scanning all around. He stares at John for a moment, clear, blue eyes somehow staring intensely into his soul before flashing away and glancing around at the other train booths, all filled with chattering couples and eager uni students going on holiday; they seemingly the only ones who were not engaging in friendly conversation about the adventures that may lay ahead. 

John quickly looks down after their eyes meet, going back to marking the tests. The other man picks up his phone and starts fiddling around on it, and John ignores him in favour of marking the tests. 

After a while, he hears faint sound effects coming from his direction. Based on the noises he could hear coming from the other man's phone and the knowledge he gathered from only being around Clara and Harry, who were avid phone gamers, he seemed to be playing...  _ Candy Crush _ ? And doing quite terribly as well, because he kept failing the same level over and over, till he just gave up. 

John could hardly even look up from his test papers, in fear of bursting out laughing. A grown man, first of all even playing such a silly game, and secondly not even being able to pass? It was the funniest thing he had experienced since his students had all pranked him and decided to all stand on their desks and shout, “Oh captain, my captain,” at the end of class one particular day. 

John continues his marking, red spilling all over the test paper. A voice speaks up from the other side of the wooden table. 

“You’re marking those tests wrong, you know.”

“Excuse me?” John glances up from his scribbling. 

“It is most efficient to place the checkmarks beside the question number and have each checkmark represent one mark for that question.”

John looks up in disbelief. His dark curly hair was in disarray from the nap earlier, but his gaze was pinning John directly to the seat. John shakes himself out of the depths of his bright eyes. “Wow. So would you like to mark my tests for me?”

“What do you teach?”

“ A couple undergrad physiology, anatomy, and genetics classes at the University of Oxford.”

“Hah. Stupid. No thanks.”

John looks at him, offended, and is about to make a snappy remark, but sees a flash of fear in his eyes, although his stare levels a second later. He realises that the other man must not know what that class even is, and decides to lay off on the snarky reply, though his inner self is hysterical inside, amazed that is arrogant of a man doesn’t know what his class teaches. 

“John Watson, nice to meet you… ?”

“Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. Nice to meet you, Mr. Watson.”

“Doctor, actually. I got my phD a couple years before I decided to teach.”

“Sorry,  _ Dr. _ Watson.”

John shakes Sherlock’s hand, callused and cool under his always-warm hands. 

“So what do you do, Sherlock?” John starts shuffling the test papers together, barely having finished marking one test, but deciding that was enough for the vacation. 

“I am a consulting detective down in Reading, and visit London for cases most times.”

“What is that?” John looks Sherlock up and down, unimpressed by the blue trench coat and scarf, clothes of those of an average person. 

“That means when the police are out of their depth, which they always are, they come to me and consult me. I’m the only one in the world; I invented the job.” 

“Why would they consult you? What makes you,” John eyes him up and down, “So smart? Smart enough that the police would have to consult you?”

Sherlock begins to unknot his scarf, now seeming to notice how much he was wearing compared to everyone else on the train. “Well, I’ve mastered the science of deduction. I can see characteristics and elements of a someone’s life just by looking at them and observing slight things.” 

“Ok, well prove it.” John snorts inwardly at how arrogant the human race could be.

“See that person over there?” Sherlock points to a girl, brunette with her hair loose, sitting in the booth diagonal from theirs, wearing a dark red hoodie and black jeans. “She owns a cat,” Sherlock squints at her, “Two, actually. She’s an aspiring writer. She doesn’t have a boyfriend, but likes someone. Need I go on?”

John nods approvingly, but still questioning the validity of this, essentially, stranger’s words. “Ok, but how do I know this is all true?”

“You can see traces of two different colours of hair on her sweater, and her fingertips show slight calluses but they’re not in the place they would be if she played an instrument like piano or guitar. She’s obviously trying to flirt with that sitting across from her, based on her body language and subtle social cues. Still questioning whether or not what I’m saying is true?”

By this point, Sherlock has taken off his jacket and scarf, and is looking at John like he is staring through him. The train begins to pull to a stop, this time at the Banbury station. 

“Hmm… still a little skeptical. How about you try me? I want to see how much you can actually get right.” 

Sherlock looks John up and down, eyebrows raising inquisitively. He opens his mouth to start his deducing, but before he can start, the train car’s doors hiss open, and the sound of a baby’s wail is heard over the general hubbub of the crowd. 

John winces. After Harry and Clara adopted their 5-month-old daughter, the usual silence of the couple’s apartment was replaced with wails and cries of anguish. John’s now automatic reaction to a baby crying, from too many night’s of babysitting, is scrambling for the nearest bottle and looking for the closest clean diaper. Now that he’s on a long-deserved vacation, he hopes to get away from that noise a much as possible, though that doesn’t seem to be going in his favour as the baby’s cry gets louder and louder towards the entrance to their train car. 

John sees the baby. Although dressed in irresistable baby clothes and a hat and shoes and carried on the front of the mum, seemingly harmless, just the sight of a baby causes fear to pool in his stomach. John sees the parents scan their car, looking at seats, and immediate panic sets in. 

They begin walking in the direction of the two, and John’s sweat exponentially increases the closer the parents get to him. He sucks in a breath as they take the last step towards their booth. 

The mum slides into the seat beside Sherlock. The dad places their two small cases on the floor. There are visible dark rings around both of their eyes. “Hello, nice to meet you. My name is Sophie, and this is my husband Craig.” She extends a hand out to Sherlock, and he appears startled, before he composes himself and takes her hand in his and shakes it. “Nice to meet you guys as well. I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is Dr. Watson.”

“John, actually,” he cuts in. 

“Yes, well, we were just wondering,” the father starts, “If we could have you guys sit beside each other on one side, that way we can take care of sweet little Alfie here together.”

Sherlock blinks, seemingly not comprehending the question. John speaks up. “Yes, sure, we’d love to.”

John moves to scooch even closer to the window, and hisses at Sherlock. “Sherlock, come over here.” John pats the seat next to him, and Sherlock blinks a couple times, look at the couple, then John, then moves to stand. 

The mum takes the baby out of the carrier and swaddles him in her arms. Craig sits down beside her, and they fuss over the baby, tucking in this and that. 

The train begins to gather speed again, setting off to their next stop. Right as John is about to pull out his tests and continue marking using the more “efficient” method, Alfie starts wailing again. John sighs, his plans of finishing marking before getting to Edinburgh for vacation flying out the window. 

John looks over at Sherlock, and he is staring at Alfie as if he’d never seen a baby before. Enraptured with amazement but also a little bit of fear. 

“Hello,” the father waves his hand in front of Sherlock’s face, effectively ending the spell he seemed to be under. “I realise this is a bit unconventional, but could you lot watch over him while me and my wife ‘ere take a quick nap? It’s just that we haven’t been able to sleep properly in months and we’re both exhausted. Don’t worry, if he cries, you can just give him this bottle.”

He pulls a bottle out, wrapped in a protective sleeve, and continues. “And he’ll be fine. He’s just had his nappy changed before we got on, so he should be fine for a couple hours. Is that OK?”

John really wants to refuse, he really does. But their pleading faces strike a chord with him. He’s seen that same expression on Harry and Clara’s faces, when they ask him to babysit, and he relents. 

“Sure, fine.”

“Sure? Fine?” Sherlock hisses to John. “I don’t know how to take care of a baby!” 

“It’s fine,” John hisses right back. He fakes a smile for Sophie and Craig, who look over worriedly. “I’ve taken care of my infant and I’m a doctor. We’ll be fine.”

John stretches his arms out to receive the baby, who Sophie hands over the table to him. She then spreads out a blanket on the table. 

Alfie scrunches his nose up at a touch that doesn’t seem to be him mum’s, and looks displeased with the situation. 

_ How does a baby look displeased anyway?  _ Sophie beams at the two, as she pulls a small throw blanket out of their luggage, and says, “Perfect! After this, I bet you guys will totally be ready to adopt a baby of your own, and start your own little family!”

Sherlock starts shaking his head. “No, no, we’re not-”

“Thank you so much for this. We really need the sleep. If he does happen to poop, just wake up and we’ll change him, alright?

“Yes, got it.” 

Sophie and Craig begin to doze off, and John elbows Sherlock hard with his one free arm before he sets off and wakes them up. John sets Alfie on the soft blanket laid out on the table for him. Alfie, seemingly missing a human touch, scrunches up his nose again and starts wailing. John looks over at his parents, and they begin to stir. John scrambles to quiet him, but Sherlock pushes him aside. 

Looking at the infant seriously, he shushes him, and the baby immediately quiets. 

“How did you do that? Teach me that; I’ve got to try that with my niece someday.”

“It only works once, and only on people with underdeveloped brains.”

“But how did you do that so easily? I’ve never seen someone shut up a baby so quick! Could you teach-”

Sherlock looks at John seriously, and brings a finger up to his lips. “Shush.”

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday! I'll continue this "oneshot" next year. please don't laugh at my laughable writing; its so bad and you can see me slowly give up at the end, but anyways have a great birthday! (also thanks to B for editing this shitfest of a post)


End file.
